


nothing left to lose

by starstreaked



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff, My fucking god! These bitches gay! Good for them! Good for them., Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, adora is baby, and mean catgirl gf, best dumb jock gf, catra doesn't know how to handle feelings, literally at all, you have to work for it doe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24799363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstreaked/pseuds/starstreaked
Summary: One of Adora’s earliest memories is of Catra.They’re no older than seven, and Shadow Weaver has just sent for them to come to dinner. Catra gives Adora one of her sneaky side glances, mouth curving to the side, and Adora feels a familiar rush of anxious anticipation. Adora presses back a little grin of her own, staying quiet and watching the others scramble out of the barracks.(Or: Catra and Adora, through the years. Told through an assortment of one-shots.)
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 114





	nothing left to lose

**Author's Note:**

> i uhhhh just binged she-ra and. holy fuck. i loved it so much. i was so shocked by the complexities of the characters and their relationships. literally better than most of the actual Adult Television ive seen. also. SPACE LESBIANS?? AS MAIN CHARACTERS?? take my heart and soul. anyway!!! i hope you enjoy reading these dumbasses as much as i enjoyed writing them :D

( _nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other._ )

One of Adora’s earliest memories is of Catra.

They’re no older than seven, and Shadow Weaver has just sent for them to come to dinner. Catra gives Adora one of her sneaky side glances, mouth curving to the side, and Adora feels a familiar rush of anxious anticipation. Adora presses back a little grin of her own, staying quiet and watching the others scramble out of the barracks.

She and Catra don’t need to speak to know what the other is thinking.

The door shuts behind Rogelio, and Adora bounces. “What is it?” she whispers, gripping Catra’s sleeve urgently. She knows Catra has a plan. Catra always has a plan. Adora has always been secretly jealous of the ease with which mischief came to her friend. Whenever Adora tried her hand at it, she could never get over the replayed image of Shadow Weaver catching them and throwing them in a closet for a few hours as punishment.

Catra doesn’t care about punishment. She says, “I saw inside the weapons room today,” face turned up smugly.

Adora blinks. Children younger than ten aren’t allowed in the weapons room. “You did?”

“It was _fantastic_ ,” Catra says. “It’s better than in our drawings!”

Excitement flutters to life in Adora’s chest. “Do you know where it is?”

Catra’s giggle overpowers her attempt at a scoff. “ _Duh_ ,” she says, and grabs Adora’s wrist. “Come on. We have to be quiet.”

Adora doesn’t argue. She wants to see it just as much as Catra does, and maybe she can’t _plan_ trouble, but she has no problem participating in it. 

She follows Catra’s steps as precisely as she can manage—Adora’s pretty sure Catra’s better at sneaking than anyone else in the Fright Zone—but she can never quite manage Catra’s lithe grace or quiet elegance. She’s not part cat, after all.

Catra jerks to a halt, a clawed finger held up over her mouth as she looks at Adora over her shoulder. Adora peers around her just in time to watch a guard on patrol stalk down the corridor, away from their hiding place. Adora grins.

“It’s right around the corner,” Catra whispers, gripping Adora’s hand tight and pulling her down the corridor to the left.

“Isn’t there a key?” Adora asks as they close in on the door to their left.

Catra shoots her a proud look. “A code,” she corrects, and reaches up on her tiptoes to tap the keypad on the doorknob.

“Wow,” breathes Adora, following her inside. “My life would be so boring without you!”

“Shut up or we’ll get caught!” Catra says, but she looks pleased.

The weapons room is, if possible, even more extravagant than Adora had imagined it. Swords gleam from their hooks on the walls, displayed like fine china, adorned with jewels and curved engravings. There are daggers and bows and blasters, and Adora can barely catch her breath thinking that one day, all this power will be at her fingertips.

“Isn’t it great?” Catra asks, and it takes Adora a moment to realize Catra has been watching her instead of the weapons. 

Adora laughs, covering her mouth with a hand. “I can’t believe we’ve never seen it! It’s been right here, all our lives!”

“Shadow Weaver’s just scared of what we could do if we got our hands on it all,” declares Catra, leaping from the floor to one of the shelves. 

Adora’s heart skips a beat. She looks behind her shoulder, that tight, ever-present ball of anxiety growing a bit bigger. She says, “Catra, maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Oh, come on, Adora,” says Catra, climbing higher. “I can see everything from up here!”

_You’re nervous for nothing_ , Adora tells herself, and pushes that anxiety aside to make room for the frantic excitement of before. She takes a big breath and pushes it out, setting her shoulders.

“You ready to stop being scared?” taunts Catra from the top shelf, tail swishing furiously in midair.

Adora narrows her eyes. “I’m not _scared_ ,” she snaps, pushing hair out of her eyes. She steels herself and climbs onto the table to her left, gaining just enough height to reach one of the swords hanging on the wall. When she picks it up hilt-up, she nearly drops it and stumbles but rights her footing just in time. Slowly, Adora swings the sword upright, tiny hands wrapped around the hilt, and then she shoots Catra her most triumphant, Catra-like grin. “Who’s the scared one _now_?”

Catra gapes at the sword, then at Adora. She opens her mouth, a smile curling the edges of her lips, when heavy, angry footsteps sound from outside the weapons room. She slips on her shelf. When she falls, all the carefully-arranged weapons on the top shelf go with her.

Catra squeaks at the same time the door goes flying open. Shadow Weaver stands there, and despite the mask that covers her face Adora is very sure she isn’t smiling.

“What,” begins Shadow Weaver, voice tight and terrible, “is going on here?”

Adora is frozen in place, knuckles white around the sword clutched in her hands. Catra makes a noise of quiet distress and licks a cut on the back of her hand. 

Hesitantly, Adora says, “Shadow Weaver, we didn’t mean to—”

“Adora,” Shadow Weaver interrupts, “what did I tell you about Catra?”

Guilt and anger swirl around in Adora’s chest. She casts Catra a tiny glance in her peripheral and watches her pretend not to hear Shadow Weaver’s thinly veiled insult. Adora’s heart gives a little tug of pain. 

“It wasn’t Catra’s fault!” Adora bursts out. The sword falls out of her hand with a jarring _clang_. “It was my idea! She mentioned how she passed the weapons room on the way back from class and I convinced her to show me where it was.”

Catra is silent, but her hair and ears are bushy and sticking straight up. She looks sad, which only makes Adora angrier and guiltier. “Please, Shadow Weaver,” says Adora. “Catra doesn’t deserve to be punished when I forced her to go along with my plan.”

Shadow Weaver doesn’t speak for a moment, like she’s thinking or hesitating, and Adora’s heart lifts with hope. She says, “Oh, Adora,” voice deep with understanding, and comes to stand before Adora. She lifts a cold cloaked hand to Adora’s cheek. “You are so good, aren’t you? So good that you wouldn’t think twice about defending a girl who pretends to be your friend for her own benefit.” Shadow Weaver clucks disapprovingly. “You only deserve the finest of influences.”

Adora’s heart sinks again. “Catra’s not a bad influence!” she protests, and hops off the table to stand guard before where Catra is curled into herself in the middle of the mess of weapons on the floor. “Catra’s my best friend, and she’s not pretending!”

But Shadow Weaver doesn’t seem to be listening anymore. She waves her hand and the disrupted weapons fly back to their previous locations. The weapons room looks untouched. “Follow me, children.” She turns and steps out of the weapons room.

Adora looks at Catra, confused and frightened and expecting to see her emotions reflected in the other girl’s eyes, but Catra doesn’t look confused. She doesn’t look scared, like she usually was when Shadow Weaver caught them out after curfew or scolded them for misbehaving during lessons. She just looks tired.

“Catra?”

Catra blinks, and her eyes look bigger than usual. “I wanna go to bed,” she says, and climbs to her feet, ignoring Adora’s offered hand. She sniffs. “Sorry for getting you in trouble, Adora.”

“Catra, wait!” shouts Adora, stumbling after Catra when she dashes for the door, where Shadow Weaver is waiting for them a few paces away. “Catra, are you crying?”

“No!” says Catra, turning over her shoulder to hiss, teeth bared and hair bristled.

“Wait—” Adora makes to run, but a tight grip on her forearm stops her short.

“Let her go, Adora,” says Shadow Weaver. “I wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

Adora turns, confused. “I’m not in trouble?”

Shadow Weaver’s laugh is a low rumble. “Oh, no, my dear Adora. You aren’t in trouble. You are a child. Your curiosity is only natural! Why, I’m glad you’re showing such interest in the weapons.” She touches Adora’s cheek. “You are a very special child. I am eager to see the woman you will grow into.”

Adora takes a half-step back, and Shadow Weaver’s hand falls away. “But—” She tilts her head, touching a finger to the place Shadow Weaver’s hand had been a moment before. “What about Catra?”

Some part of Shadow Weaver hardens. “Catra knows her place. She is smart, despite all she does to show otherwise. She will not get in the way of your destiny.”

“What?” says Adora. The words poke sharp holes in her heart. She can feel her chest deflating. “But she—”

“Is a distraction from the true goals in your life,” says Shadow Weaver. Her hand hovers over the top of Adora’s spine, gently urging her to walk. “Surely you must see this, my dear.”

“No!” exclaims Adora, planting her feet. “No, Shadow Weaver. Catra isn’t a distraction, she’s a friend!” Her eyes start to sting. “Why don’t you understand that?”

Shadow Weaver doesn’t appear to be affected by Adora’s outburst or her emotion. “You are young,” she says. “You will understand when you are older.” She gives Adora a look—not exactly a kind one, or even a warm one, but something fond nonetheless. It’s one Adora is familiar with. “Catra doesn’t know your potential. She would understand if she did.” She gives Adora’s shoulder a squeeze. “I promise.”

_No_ , thinks Adora, feeling hopeless for the first time in her young life. _No, she wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t understand at all._ She knows Catra must be curled up in Adora’s four-poster right now, tucked in a tight ball, face buried in a blanket that has gone wet with tears. 

Adora doesn’t think anyone understands but Shadow Weaver.

( _every hero needs a sidekick, right?_ )

Catra is fourteen when she decides she is okay with second best.

She’d spent years struggling to prove to Shadow Weaver, to Adora, to all the cadets, that she was more than capable of everything Adora was and more, but it was no use. From the moment they’d begun training at ten, Catra knew where her place would be, but that didn’t stop her from doing all in her power to try and change it. She’d worn herself ragged in the training rooms, working and working until she was sure anything else would do harm rather than good, but to no avail.

Shadow Weaver never looked twice at her, not unless it was to scold her for leading Adora astray or showing up late for training.

So Catra had laid awake at night, tears of fury and hurt and frustration burning behind her eyes, watching Adora’s eyes move in restless dreams of glory and great destiny, wanting more than anything in the world to prove that she could achieve just as much.

It took a long time for Catra to push those thoughts aside, but eventually she decided she didn’t have much of a choice. Maybe she’d been sitting atop their lookout in the Fright Zone, watching the sunset paint Adora’s face orange and pink, watching Adora’s eyes catch fire. Maybe she’d released a single breath of air and thought, _It can’t be that bad, to have this life forever._

At the end of the day, the only person she was second to was Adora, and she would never leave Adora’s side. She could handle second best as long as that stayed the same. They would conquer it all and nothing else would matter, because they would be together.

So she settled for it. For a second best that ensured her a future she hadn’t ever really considered. One where she was happy. One where—maybe, just maybe—she could be nothing more than what she made herself.

Now, Catra curls herself up at the foot of Adora’s bed, sighing. Tomorrow they will begin simulated training and Adora will be praised for everything—every straight step and even breath—while Catra is acknowledged for nothing. But it will be okay, because it means they will get out of the Horde someday, when Shadow Weaver has had enough of waiting for whatever extravagant destiny she’s imagined up for Adora.

Catra will get further if she stops fighting everything around her, so she will try, if only for the chance of a Horde-free future with Adora, where they rule the world without any eyes upon them.

Adora shifts in her sleep and yawns loudly. “Catra?” she mumbles.

Catra flicks Adora’s blanketed foot with her tail in silent acknowledgement.

Adora raises herself up on her elbows, squinting through the darkness. “Are you not sleeping again?” she asks, words slurred with sleep but filled with a genuine concern that Catra appreciates against her own best efforts.

Catra shakes her head. “Just not tired tonight, I guess,” she sighs, stretching herself out over Adora’s legs.

“Ugh,” says Adora, flopping back onto her pillows. She presses one onto her face and groans. “I’m restless too. I feel so unprepared for tomorrow.”

“Today, actually,” says Catra, because she can never resist the chance to correct Adora. Adora flings the pillow she’d had over her head in Catra’s general vicinity. “Anyway, you know you have nothing to worry about.” She yawns. “You’re a superhuman and Shadow Weaver loves everything you do, even if you screw it all up.”

“Gee, thanks,” says Adora flatly. They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, letting the stillness of the night settle over them before Adora speaks again. She sits up, face suddenly solemn. “You know you’re my best friend, right?”

Catra lifts her head, surprised. Adora’s face glows dimly in the shadows of her bunk, but her eyes are so blue and earnest that Catra has to glance away. She hopes the darkness is enough to disguise the blush that rises to her cheeks. Catra clears her throat. “Obviously,” she says, trying for a bravado that falls disappointingly flat. “It’s not like you have anyone else crazy enough to put up with all your righteous bursts or split-second schemes.”

Adora makes a face at her and pushes her bare foot up to shove Catra. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean,” she says, when Catra has stopped yelping in protest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Me neither,” agrees Catra. Her face burns. “You’re a neurotic control freak—”

Adora tackles her, wrestling Catra’s hands to the bed. “Shut up,” she says, but she’s holding back a grin. “Lonnie will never forgive us if we don’t let her sleep tonight. Anyway, I’m not joking, Catra. You’re the most important person in my life and I would probably be dead or hopeless without you.”

Catra smiles at her then, chest light and warmer than it’s been all month. “You’re still hopeless,” she says, “but you know you’re the same to me, Adora.” She throws a hand over her forehead. “You’re the Black Garnet to my Shadow Weaver,” she declares, draping herself over the bed.

Adora snorts. Her eyes are the bluest thing Catra has ever seen in her life and her hair is out of her signature poofy ponytail, all loose and blonde and birdnest-y around her shoulders. Catra’s chest hurts, just a little. She looks away, furious with the rapid rhythm of her heartbeat.

Adora rests her hand on Catra’s, squeezing gently. “Hey,” she says softly, and Catra meets her eyes again. “Friends always, remember?”

Catra swallows the lump in her throat. “Yeah,” she croaks. “I remember.”

“Nothing will change that, Catra,” Adora whispers, her grip on Catra’s hand tightening. “Not Shadow Weaver, not cadet training, nothing. No matter what, it’s you and me.”

“You and me,” Catra repeats. Her thoughts move sluggishly. She thinks, _I want to believe you more than anything in the whole world._ “Yeah. No matter what.”

When they drift off to sleep, bodies curled toward one another, hands clasped like children in a fairytale, Catra is almost content.

( _i'm always going to be your friend_.)

Adora is sixteen and she’s never been happier.

Shadow Weaver had let the cadets out of practice early to celebrate over a dinner of ration bars—“The gray ones!” Catra exclaims, tugging on Adora’s ponytail—and there was something in the air that nearly made Adora forget they were in the middle of a war. Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle sit with them in the barracks, munching happily and talking with more animation than Adora has heard in years.

“Just think,” sighs Lonnie from where she lounges on her top bunk, arms crossed behind her head, “when Adora is Force Captain, we’ll be able to do whatever we want.” She shoots Adora a grin. 

Adora flushes. “Oh, come on,” she says, ducking her head and ignoring the little glow of excitement that rises with Lonnie’s words. “Any of you could be promoted! We still have nearly two years!”

Catra laughs hard enough that her voice breaks. “Sweet, innocent Adora,” she says, leaning into Adora’s side. “As if Shadow Weaver didn’t make her decision the moment she saw you.”

Rogelio makes a growling noise that is probably agreement, and Kyle says, “Yeah, Adora!” He looks embarrassed. “I mean, sure, Shadow Weaver likes you best, but you’re also the best at combat.” He reddens. “And math. And interrogation. And—”

“Okay, Kyle,” interrupts Catra, voice edged with annoyance. She’s inspecting her nails, sharpening them against the wooden post of she and Adora’s bunk. “We get it. Adora’s perfect in every way and will never do wrong. We’re all aware. Anyway,” she drawls, before Adora can start protesting, “Lonnie’s right.” She shoots Adora her slyest look. “Once you’re Force Captain, it’s free for all.” She winks, and Adora restrains a smile.

“Absolutely no abuse of power,” says Adora grandly. “I’ve been trained better than that.”

Her friends break into their incredulous laughter, poking and prodding and teasing each other. Adora sneaks a look at Catra and finds Catra watching her right back. 

Catra’s mouth curves up into a smirk. “Once you’re Force Captain,” she whispers, “we can get out of here for real.”

Adora tilts her head, brows furrowing. “What, you mean like sneak-off best friend adventures?” she asks, nudging the other girl with a grin.

But Catra shakes her head. Her mismatched eyes are bright and wild, her ears perked and attentive. “I mean,” she says, “that Shadow Weaver won’t know the difference between sneak-off best friend adventures and our _real_ futures.”

“What real futures?” Adora asks dubiously

Catra’s claws dig into her shoulders, just enough that Adora gives her a look of distracted irritation. “You’re not hearing me,” she says, even though Adora definitely is. “We can _go_ , Adora. Shadow Weaver trusts you completely now, so think of all the power you’ll have as Force Captain!” Her eyes gleam. “We can have our own lives. Together.”

Adora gapes at her. “You mean you want to just leave?”

Catra rolls her eyes. “ _Duh_. Honestly, Adora, sometimes I think you have selective hearing—”

“Catra!” Adora exclaims, grabbing Catra’s wrists. “We can’t _abandon_ the Horde. Are you crazy? Were you even listening for ten years when they explained every horrible detail of the war to us in classes? We’re not just training for fun, Catra! We’re training to save our home!” 

Catra is silent for a moment. Then she jerks her wrists out of Adora’s grip. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says, and there’s a nasty edge to her voice that is usually reserved for Shadow Weaver or even Kyle, when Catra’s feeling especially mean. “Are you serious, Adora?”

“Am I serious?” Adora repeats, incredulity coloring the words. “Am I _serious_? Of course I’m serious! I can’t believe you’re suggesting we just—just leave!”

Catra makes a noise of disgust, jumping to her feet. “Of course. How _stupid_ of me,” she says. Her tail lashes furiously around her legs. “I can’t believe I would really consider that you—you, Adora, Shadow Weaver’s special little cadet and future Horde _hero_ ”—she spits out the word like a particularly vile poison—“would ever consider leaving her perfect life behind for someone as useless and insignificant as me.” Her lip curls up, revealing a sharp-toothed snarl. “My mistake.”

“Catra!” Adora exclaims. Hurt wars with the anger in her chest. “What are you talking about? This isn’t—” 

But Catra has turned on her heel and stormed out of the barracks, and it’s only then that Adora manages to remember their audience. Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio sit around their respective bunks, mouths agape. Adora slumps down on the mattress, burying her face in her hands. She feels exhausted, suddenly.

“She’s angry, huh,” comes Lonnie’s voice. Rogelio grumbles. Lonnie sighs. “Always been such a short fuse, that one. I don’t know how you handle her, Adora.”

Adora lifts her head, feeling indignant despite herself. “Catra’s not always like that,” she defends. “She’s just hurt.” Adora swallows a heavy lump of guilt. “She wants—” Her mouth snaps shut. “It doesn’t matter. She wants something I can’t give.” 

Lonnie snorts. “You’re too nice, Blondie. Catra’s insecure. She shouldn’t take that out on other people.”

“Catra’s a person,” Adora snaps, then shakes her head. “She’s just as flawed as I am.”

“But you aren’t mean,” says Kyle matter-of-factly. “It’s different.”

“Damn right it’s different,” agrees Lonnie. “Catra’s always been jealous of you, Adora. That’s not your fault.”

Adora scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lonnie. Catra’s not _jealous_ of me. Just because Shadow Weaver coddles me doesn’t mean—”

“It does,” says Lonnie. “But I’m not gonna sit here and convince you. One day you’ll get it and maybe you’ll regret letting her walk all over you all this time.”

Real anger flickers to life in Adora’s chest. “Catra doesn’t walk all over me,” she says sharply. “We’re best friends. This isn’t some—some parasitic relationship, or something. You don’t understand, and that’s fine.” She straightens. “You don’t need to. Only Catra and I do.” She pushes through the three of them. “Thanks for celebrating with me.”

“Adora, wait—”

Adora stalks out of the room just soon enough to spot the end of a bristly tail disappearing down the corridor. _Shit_ , thinks Adora, and breaks into a run. “Catra!” she hisses. “Catra, stop! You have to let me explain!”

Catra doesn’t stop, but Adora knows where she’s going. She sighs and follows Catra the rest of the way to their lookout.

The sun is sinking low enough in the sky to skim the horizon, washing the metal world of the Fright Zone in a chromatic array of fiery oranges and oily reds. Catra’s dark choppy hair is a stark shape against the brightness, and Adora has to lift a hand above her eyes to see her. 

Adora steps over to the ledge and lowers herself to the floor beside Catra, letting her legs dangle over the edge as she leans back on her hands. They sit like that for a few long minutes, and the silence is never uncomfortable, never awkward—not between them, not even after a fight. When Adora finally decides to speak, the oranges of the sunset have shifted to purples and pinks. 

“You know I don’t agree with anything Lonnie was saying, right?”

Catra’s ear flicks. She doesn’t look away from the skyline. She says, “I know you don’t.”

“Okay,” says Adora, examining Catra’s familiar profile. The light paints her face in harsh black shadows, sharpening the angles already ingrained there, turning them darker, crueler. “Why did you say it like that, then?”

“You’re hearing things.”

“I’m not,” Adora fires back. “I know you. Don’t pretend I don’t.” She nudges Catra’s shoulder with her own. “Don’t tell me you’ve started to care what Lonnie and the others think of you.”

Catra’s tail twitches once. “Like that’ll ever happen,” she retorts, with a touch of her old fire. Adora watches her, waiting and prepared to be patient. Catra sighs, propping her chin up on her hands, elbows resting on her crossed knees. “I know you don’t agree with what she said,'' she says at last, turning her face away. “But she’s not wrong.”

“ _What_?” Adora’s head whips to look at her. “Don’t be crazy, Catra—”

“It’s not _crazy_ , Adora,” says Catra, finally turning to face her. “I know I’m mean and angry and jealous and I know you deserve someone a lot better.”

Adora makes a strangled sound of disbelief. “Catra, no. I don’t—that’s not—ugh!” She rakes a frustrated hand through her hair, messing up her ponytail. “Catra, that’s Shadow Weaver talking! She treats you horribly and you know it! If you’re jealous or—or anything else, it’s only because she doesn’t—she acts like—”

“Like I’ll never be as good as you,” Catra finishes flatly. Her eyes flick back to the horizon. “Like I was never worth the effort she put into me. Yeah.” She draws her knees up to her chest and curls her tail around her feet. “I know.”

“But that’s the thing!” says Adora, because the conversation has spiraled out of her control so much faster than she’d anticipated. “She’s _wrong_ , Catra. You have to know she’s wrong. You’re none of the things she thinks you are. You’re not mean—you’re afraid and sad and loyal, and maybe braver than you should be.” She hesitates, then reaches out and touches Catra’s hand, feather-light. “You’re the greatest best friend I could have. Ever.”

But there’s a wall up around Catra now, and as long as Adora has known Catra—as long as she’s known that wall—Adora has never been able to break through it. The words fall empty out of her mouth in the face of it.

“Yeah,” says Catra. She’s still not looking at Adora. “Thanks, Adora. Happy birthday.” 

( _i won't let you win! i'd rather see the whole world end!_ )

Catra paces back and forth, clenching and unclenching her fists.

Fury bubbles low in her gut, climbing higher and higher until it chokes off her throat and Catra has no way to release it but slam her fist into one of the metal garbage cans in the corner. The can collapses with a metallic _clang_ but doesn’t topple. It’s only after, standing on the dirt floor with blood leaking from her knuckles and palm where her claws had dug in too far, that she discovers it hasn’t helped at all.

Scorpia watches a few meters away, uncertainty and concern warring on her face. “Er, Catra?” she tries, raising a claw in Catra’s direction.

Catra snarls at her, feeling more wild animal than girl. Scorpia’s flinch is barely perceptible, but Catra is too incensed to care at all. 

“Right,” says Scorpia, lowering her arm and crossing her pincers waveringly before her. “Well, I was just going to suggest that—not that I’m ordering you to do anything!” she adds nervously, when Catra’s hackles rise. “But maybe you should go outside and let the others know.”

Catra stares at her, too blinded by the film of red creeping into her vision to really comprehend the words. “Why,” she says, “would I do _that_?”

Scorpia takes a half-step back, pincers held defensively before her. “They’re just—” She swallows. “They’re a gang, Catra! They don’t really, er, behave well when left unattended.”

Catra takes a deep breath, grasping at some tiny modicum of self control. “Fine,” she snaps, and storms up to the doorway separating this room from the party room. She slashes out at the ratty curtain covering it, claws extended. It flutters uselessly to the ground, and the chaos of the party dies down to a low, hesitant mumble.

She stands there, panting, letting her expression do the work. It does. Any drunken cheering and uncoordinated dancing stumbles to a fearful halt. Catra is too angry to feel smug about it. She whips to face Goat-Kyle, who stands uncertainly by the doorway, grin half-frozen on her face. When she catches Catra’s eye, it falls away completely. She straightens, and her hand jerks upward in a stiff salute.

“Boss Catra,” she says. “How’s the prisoner?”

Catra strides over to her and gets a handful of her shirt collar. Goat-Kyle gulps. “ _What_ ,” Catra begins lowly, “did I tell you about keeping these _idiots_ under control while I was gone?”

Goat-Kyle’s eyes widen. “Um,” she chokes out. “That I was supposed to do it?”

“ _Ah_!” Catra screeches, throwing her to the ground. She lands in a heap, gagging and trembling. “You’re all useless.” Her lip curls. “I don’t know why I bother.”

Goat-Kyle scrambles to her feet, standing again at attention. “Boss, I didn’t think—you seemed glad, earlier, when we captured the She-Ra! I thought you liked the party—”

“Obviously,” growls Catra, “you were wrong. So how about next time, you listen to orders like a good little servant instead of making assumptions, am I _clear_? Oh, wait,” Catra continues, before Goat-Kyle can voice her frantic nods. “There won’t be a next time, because I can’t trust anyone but myself.” She laughs mirthlessly, dragging her nails down the bar countertop. “You’re all too stupid or too damn righteous. Silly me.”

Goat-Kyle blinks. “What—what do you mean, Boss? You—you’re leaving already?”

Catra sneers. “What, you can’t handle yourself against big bad Tung Lashor?” She feigns a pout, lifting Goat-Kyle’s chin up with a claw. “Need me to babysit you? _Pathetic_.” She shoves Goat-Kyle away, sending her stumbling back to right herself against the wall. “None of you are worth my time. Of course I’m leaving.”

At least fifty eyes gape at her with expressions ranging from pure fear to anger to confusion. Catra doesn’t care about any of it. Scorpia was wrong. She was wrong and she was naive. Better that Catra leave the Crimson Waste now before she can give the harebrained idiots standing like unstrung puppets around the bar any real chance to betray her.

Catra is done trusting people.

Scorpia’s nervous laughter sounds behind her. “I’m, uh, sure Catra doesn’t really mean that, guys. She’s just—”

The look Catra knifes at her is so chock-full of dark promise that Scorpia’s mouth snaps shut. Scorpia swallows. “Don’t listen to me,” she says, a pincer brushing uneasily over her hair. “Catra’s the boss.”

“Get the prisoner,” Catra orders. Scorpia nods once and disappears back through the doorway. She looks out over the crowded bar, past the confused faces and seedy tables, towards the exit. Despite it all, things are falling into place. Hordak and Entrapta have almost finished everything they need to open the portal, and here, Catra has her hands on the final piece of the puzzle.

She grips Adora’s sword in her hands. At last, they’ll all see that she’s just as worthy as Adora, She-Ra or not. At last, her name will ring loud across all of Etheria. Shadow Weaver will see how grave her mistake was, when she tricked Catra for the last time.

_When she betrayed you for Adora_ , a cruel little voice in the back of taunts. _When she proved once and for all that she never really loved you. That she only ever put up with you because Adora begged her to._

Catra shoves that voice away, her eyes stinging. No, she will never have to think about Shadow Weaver again. She’ll again never have to look into Adora’s eyes, so full of sadness and disappointment and memories, as she pleads and pleads for Catra to come with her. To fall back to Adora’s side again, to be the sidekick in Adora’s grand heroic story. 

Once, Catra might have been okay with second best, but now she knows that was always her gravest mistake.

Catra will never choose Adora. She will never make that mistake again. _I will choose only myself_ , she vows. _Only myself, for the rest of my life._

She would rather be lonely—would rather be stuck forever with no company but her own mind—than turn back into the girl she’d been before. _I will never be that girl again._

_I will never be_ weak _again._

( _you matter to me._ )

Night is different in Bright Moon than in the Fright Zone.

In the Fright Zone, Adora could never quite shake the feeling of dread from creeping up when twilight shifted away to reveal that blank, lightless void that draped everything else in its concealing shadows. She’d lived there all her life, but she always hated being out after dark.

In Bright Moon, though—despite the ever-present blackness of the night sky—night is something different. Night is a living, breathing thing that brightens the glow of the Moonstone and illuminates the faces of her friends in pinks and purples and blues. It’s still not quite as comforting as the daylight, but when Adora first moved there, she liked it.

She likes it now.

But when she thinks about all the good things here in Bright Moon, she can’t help but think of the good things back in the Fright Zone—and there were good things. More than she’d ever let on to either Bow or Glimmer, because she was afraid of judgement or suspicion. She’s sure now that they wouldn’t mind; they know her and where her loyalties lie, but the thoughts stuck. 

The evenings in the Fright Zone were always Adora’s favorites. Before the dark settled for the night, she and Catra would sneak out of their barracks and sit for hours and hours, breathing in the air and relishing it because it was fresher higher up. They would watch the sun sink below the metal-strewn horizon and Adora would feel freer than ever. For those hours, she’d let herself dare to imagine the world beyond. She’d picture the things she’d only ever read or heard about in classes.

She and Catra would trade their own descriptions—how they imagined waterfalls or oceans or mountains or flower fields—and for those few moments they were free of the pressures of cadet training, of Shadow Weaver. 

When the dark did come, Catra would shift just the tiniest bit closer to Adora, enough that their legs and shoulders brushed—because she knew everything about Adora, always had and always would—and Adora wouldn’t be afraid of it.

It’s in those twilights—when Adora knows how the colors of the sunset are turning the Fright Zone into another world entirely and knows that she isn’t there to watch—that she misses Catra the most. That she thinks of Catra perched up on their lookout without her and hurts, because she knows things will never be quite so simple again.

Now, Adora sits in her windowsill, knees pulled to her chest and hair loose from its usual updo, and wonders if Catra thinks about her the same way. They’re more separate now than they’ve ever been, because even though it’s been a year and a half now since things went sour for good, at least before they were seeing each other, even if it was only ever to fight.

Now, Catra hardly ever even shows up for those, like she has more important things to do. More important plans to make. Adora feels ridiculous and angry with herself for even thinking of it, which is why she doesn’t. Usually.

Today was the first time Adora had seen her since Catra had nearly ended the world, and the whole time, all she could see when she looked up at Catra was that strange distortion the hungry blackness had made her into. All she could hear when Catra spoke was that unnatural, crackling edge in her voice when she snarled, _You made me this! You took everything from me! You broke the world, and it is all your fault._

Adora hadn’t been surprised by those words, not exactly, but it still hurt to hear the confirmation out loud: they would never be the same. Catra truly did hate her. 

Adora sighs and shifts to dangle her legs out of the window. She wonders if there was ever a world where she and Catra were on the same side of the war—a world where they kept all their promises in spite of everything that went wrong around them. 

She wants to believe there is. Maybe then she can manage to let herself let them go. _Let it go_ , let all of it go, like Light Hope said she had to, if she wanted to save Etheria.

“Adora?”

Adora jumps, catching herself before she plummets out of the window, and turns to find Bow standing behind her, looking sheepish.

“Hey,” she says, confused. “Why are you up?”

Bow shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.” He sighs. “I can’t stop thinking about Angella. This castle feels empty without her. It’s—weird.”

Adora exhales something like a laugh. “I know what you mean.” She pats the space beside her on the windowsill and Bow sits. “I guess it’s hard to notice how much space someone takes up until they aren’t there to take it up anymore.”

Bow studies her, head tilted and eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about Angella, right?”

“Who else would I be talking about?” Adora asks, feeling guilty and stupid. Bow raises an eyebrow at her, because he can see right through any facade and really, she should know that by now. She sighs, relenting. “I can’t stop thinking about her,” she confesses, looking away from him to stare down the darkness of the Whispering Woods. “Ever since everything with the Portal I just—can’t understand it.”

“Understand what?”

Adora sags. “I don’t know. Everything, I guess.” She hesitates. “I think it would be hard to explain to you or Glimmer. You didn’t know her before all this. But I did. I knew her so well, Bow—or at least I thought I did—and I never would have thought—I couldn’t have _imagined_ who she is now.”

Bow is silent for a moment. Then, “What was she like?” 

A needle of longing pricks Adora’s heart. She says, “Catra was fun. She was adventurous, and spontaneous, and loyal and fierce. If I had to count on someone, it was her every time. She covered for me. She fought for me.” Adora smiles faintly. “I always tried to do the same for her, but now—” The smile slips. “I don’t think I did.”

A hand touches her own where it rests on the sill. “You can’t blame yourself for the choices she made, Adora.”

Adora shakes her head. “I don’t. Not really. Not now, anyway. But we made all these promises when we were kids, and—sure, we were too young to really understand them, but it always felt real. Even now, it’s hard to imagine that we managed to break every single one.”

“It’s strange,” Bow says, and Adora turns her head to look at him. He smiles. “I can’t picture you and Catra like that. It reminds me of Glimmer and I. Childhood friends—holding hands in the dark, sneaking around—we did all of that.” He nudges her. “And so did you, but it all turned out so different.”

“It was the Horde,” says Adora, without hesitation. “The Horde ruined us. I managed to get out relatively unscathed, but Catra—” She blinks back the sudden force of tears. “Catra wasn’t as lucky. I just wish there was something I could have done to stop this.”

“If there was, you would have done it,” Bow says confidently. Adora shoots him a dubious look, eyebrow raised, and he raises his eyebrows right back. “I’m serious, Adora. I know you. You care so much. Plus, you’re _She-Ra_. If there was something you could have done to help her, you would have.” He squeezes her hand. “So there wasn’t.”

Adora laughs, just a little, and wipes a furious hand over her eyes. “That’s nice of you to say, Bow. I hope you’re right.”

“I am.” 

She snorts, then shakes her head. “Thanks for listening to me.” She looks away. “I wouldn’t want to lay all this on Glimmer. Not now. She already has so much to deal with. I just feel like I should try to be strong. For her if not for myself.”

“I feel the same way,” he says, a bit grimly. “And hey, I’ll always be here to listen,” Bow tells her. “Even when Glimmer is, too.”

Adora manages a smile. “You guys are the best best friend squad in the whole universe,” she declares.

“I mean, you’re right,” he says, just a little smugly. “But it’s nice to hear out loud.”

“Oh, my most grievous fault,” Adora says, laying a dramatic hand over her forehead. “I’ll remember to praise you daily, O Great Lord Bow.”

“That’ll do.”

They spend the next twenty or so minutes muffling laughter into each others’ shoulders. When Bow trudges off to his own bedroom, Adora stares off to the horizon, stares through the Woods where she knows the Fright Zone lurks beyond, and thinks. 

She wonders if Catra is looking too.

( _don't you get it? i love you! i always have! so please, just this once, stay!_ )

There are moments where Catra is sure she’s dreaming.

She _must_ be, because when she falls asleep at night she’s back next to Adora, curled up at the foot of her bed or next to her head like when they were kids, and it isn’t possible that when she wakes up, she’s still there. It’s too good to be Catra’s reality. But when she pinches herself, she doesn’t flash back to any true reality, because, somehow, _this_ has become her true reality.

Despite all her best efforts, Catra is still suspicious of kindness. Of happiness. Adora yells at her for it sometimes. Because Adora cares about her.

Because Adora _loves_ her.

Adora loves her, and not just like a friend, like Catra had thought all her life. All her life, Catra had been prepared to settle. All her life, Catra had been prepared to be _okay_ with settling. Throughout her childhood, she’d forced herself to be okay with second best with Shadow Weaver and the Horde. With Adora, Catra had forced herself to be okay with _friends_ , despite all the feelings in her chest that screamed for something more.

So now, when Catra’s found herself with all she’s ever wanted and more, she’s certain it’s all just a product of her wonderfully vivid imagination. Any other conclusion would be blasphemous.

“Shut up now,” says Adora, rudely snapping Catra out of her reverie.

Catra gives her an indignant look. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t need to,” Adora informs her, with that stupid, imperious She-Ra wisdom she’d adopted ironically and then begun to use regularly. Catra sneers at her. “I know you’re being all, _oh, woe is me, I’m Catra and I don’t deserve happiness_ , and as the savior of your homeland, I’m ordering you to shut up.”

Catra glares at her. “You’re not the only savior of our homeland,” she says, sticking her nose in the air and looking away.

“That’s irrelevant,” Adora says. “I’m the only savior of our homeland that you’re actively _dating_ , so I’m the only one that matters. Catra, tell your brain to shut up before I get She-Ra to make you.”

Catra’s ears perk up. “You’ll get She-Ra to make me?”

Adora’s ears turn red, which was Catra’s goal. “No!” she snaps, then promptly turns redder. “I mean—yes, Catra, I will, and you won’t like it.”

“That’s debatable,” says Catra. “Here, I’ll be self-deprecating out loud. You’re a woman of your word, right?”

Adora deflates and glowers. “You’re a pervert,” she decides. “I was trying to comfort you lightheartedly.” 

“Obviously that didn’t work. You should try mean comfort. I’ll like that more.”

Adora makes a frustrated sound and throws her hands up in the air. “You’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met,” she says. “I’ll never try and soothe your tortured soul ever again.”

“You like my tortured soul,” Catra tells her.

“Stop deflecting!” Adora snaps, and shoves her. Catra yelps, scrambling back to a sitting position, fur bristling, and shoves Adora right back. “Hey!” Adora protests. “Stop! My pushing was justified. Yours is just—violent!”

Catra sniffs, righting herself on the ground as Adora grumbles some more under her breath. “I’m not deflecting,” she says. “And your pushing is just as violent. You’re all—muscly. Not that I’m complaining.”

Adora blushes more, which Catra takes some time to feel smug about. “Can you _not_?” Adora asks shrilly. Catra smirks and nurses the newly forming bruise on the back of her hand, smoothing out her fur. Adora growls like she’s trying not to kill Catra.

A third voice says, “Uh, guys?”

Adora’s head whips around comically fast. She sits straight up. “Glimmer!” she says, looking very sheepish and very cute. Catra hides a smile in her hand. “Sorry! I, er, didn’t mean to be so loud. _Someone_ ,” she continues, shooting Catra a dark look, “is being immature.”

“Catra, immature?” Glimmer asks, dryly. “Perish the thought.”

Catra sneers at her. Adora shoots Catra a smug look. “Right,” Adora says, still making faces at Catra. “Anyway, Glimmer, shouldn’t you be in bed? The meeting’s pretty early tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Glimmer rolls her eyes. “I learned to perform just as well on four hours of sleep as eight as soon as I became queen, Adora. Plus, you’re one to talk. You never sleep.”

“Well, yeah,” Adora acknowledges. “But the Horde ingrained that destructive habit into me as soon as I was old enough to understand.”

“You probably would’ve picked it up yourself either way,” Catra grumbles. Adora swats her.

“Catra’s right,” says Glimmer, which redeems her in Catra’s books. “You’re not exactly the queen of self-care, Adora.”

Adora scoffs. “Oh, what’s this, bully Adora hour?”

“Is it?” Catra asks, perking up. “Oh, I have some good ones stored away. Adora, you—”

“Shut up, Catra,” Adora says, and wastes no time. She tackles Catra and puts her in a headlock that might as well be an iron-barred cage. Catra squeaks, writhing.

“Oh my gods,” says Glimmer. “I can’t believe you guys were _enemies_ for two years. How did you manage it?”

“We didn’t,” Catra chokes out. “Obviously.”

Adora ruffles her hair furiously. Catra hisses, struggling to pull Adora’s forearms away from her neck. Unsurprisingly, she is unsuccessful. Catra stops squirming for a moment, considering.

“ _Ow_ !” Adora shoves Catra to the grass hard enough that Catra barrel-rolls once. “You _bit_ me!”

Catra cleans her ears, pleased with herself. “Yep,” she says brightly.

Glimmer snorts. “Okay, you guys. I’m gonna go find Bow before this gets awkward.” She dances away, waving. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Adora glares after her. “She thinks she’s so clever,” she says. “ _I’m gonna go find Bow_ ,” she mocks, in a high interpretation of Glimmer’s voice. “Like she’s not going to be doing the same things she’s teasing us for.”

“Aw,” Catra taunts, feigning an exaggerated pout. “Adora, don’t let big bad Glimmer hurt your feelings.”

Adora rolls her eyes. “You exhaust me,” she says, and Catra knows she’s lying when she slumps back against Catra’s legs, laying her head in Catra’s lap. She yawns hugely, eyes cast towards the stars. 

_The stars._ Catra had never thought about stars until they were there—right before her eyes every night, strung delicately through the black sky like little needles of light. Catra had never thought of the night sky as beautiful before the stars. She’d never been comforted by the night before the stars. 

She’d decided she loved them the moment she set eyes on them.

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” comes Adora’s voice from her lap, soft and quiet in the face of the night.

“Yeah,” says Catra. She runs her fingers through Adora’s hair, which looks more silver than blonde in the starlight. “They are.”

Adora yawns again. “I wish they’d been there when we were in the Fright Zone,” she says. “We would’ve liked them.”

“I like them now,” Catra tells her. 

Adora’s smile is faint and sleepy. “I know.”

“I’m taking out your ponytail,” Catra says, tugging at the hair tie and smoothing out Adora’s stupid little hair poof.

“Okay.” 

They lay like that—Adora lying quietly in Catra’s lap, staring up at the sky, Catra running carefully retracted claws through Adora’s hair—long enough that Catra thinks Adora has fallen asleep, when Adora speaks.

“I was serious earlier, Catra.” When Catra meets Adora’s eyes, they’re solemn and blue enough that Catra has to remind herself not to get distracted. “Stop thinking so much. Especially if you’re being mean to yourself.” She yawns. “You deserve happiness just as much as everyone else. Maybe more.”

Catra’s heart gives a single tug of fondness. “Okay.”

Adora’s nose scrunches up in frustration and she sits up. “Stop,” she says. “Stop brushing me off when I talk to you, okay? I don’t want you thinking you’re caught up in some too-good-to-be-true alternate universe every time something good happens.” She grips Catra’s hand. “This is real. I love that this is real.”

Catra’s eyes sting. “Me too,” she says. “So much.”

Adora studies her, eyes narrowed, for a few heartbeats, then relaxes. “Good,” she says, squeezing Catra’s hand. “Because I _will_ get She-Ra out next time I catch you looking off into the distance all melancholy-like.” She holds up her hand when Catra opens her mouth, a smirk curling it. “Don’t even start.”

Catra breaks into cackles, leaning into Adora and clutching her stomach. When the laughter dies out, Catra opens her eyes to find her nose touching Adora’s. “I like this situation,” she decides. “Why aren’t you closer?”

“Why are you _talking_?” Adora retorts, and kisses Catra soundly.

Catra makes a pleased purring noise, cupping Adora’s face. “You’re getting better at this,” Catra says between kisses.

Adora scoffs, shoving Catra over into the grass. “You are so _annoying_.” 

Though apparently not annoying enough to stop kissing. Catra muffles a snort into another kiss, grinning as Adora moves over her, elbows propped in the dirt around Catra’s head. Catra is happy to follow Adora’s lead for a few minutes, letting Adora tangle urgent fingers in her hair and run exploratory fingers down her sides.

Catra gasps when Adora trails her lips down her jaw and to her neck, sucking lightly on the hollow between her collarbones. She grips Adora’s hands, guiding them to the zipper on her back, which Adora pulls down eagerly, exposing more skin to the night air. 

“Now let me,” Catra purrs, tugging on Adora’s old Horde jacket. Adora shifts to help Catra pull it off, not that it does very much. Catra makes a frustrated noise. “Why do you wear so many _clothes_?” she demands, tugging up the hem of the white long-sleeve beneath the jacket.

“I wasn’t exactly—” Adora breaks off into a gasp as Catra bites her earlobe. “Thinking about _this_ while picking out my outfits.”

“How stupid of you,” Catra says, and pulls the shirt off. “That’s more like it.”

Adora flushes, and with her shirt off Catra can watch the flush travel all the way down her chest, only to be concealed by her bra. Catra considers for a moment, then flips them so Adora is pinned beneath her.

Adora rolls her eyes. “Do you really have to—”

She stops complaining very quickly. Catra wants to kiss every inch of skin on Adora’s body. She wants to live out every fantasy she’d had sleeping beside Adora in the Fright Zone. And she can. She can, because this is _real_ , and they have all the time in the world to discover each other.

_This is real_ , Catra thinks, and thanks any deity listening that it is.

She doesn’t even have to pinch herself.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  thanks for reading!!!! leave a review if u want ;D


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